


Under Property of Ladybug

by Rikkapikasnikka



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, No Smut, Sub Adrien Agreste, Underwear Theft, Women's Underwear, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27415948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikkapikasnikka/pseuds/Rikkapikasnikka
Summary: After his father's arrest due to being a magical terrorist, Marinette and Adrien make a startling discovery.All of Adrien's underwear is marked with his father's name.It's only a little disturbing now. Just a little.But Marinette decides that she won't settle for this. She has to make sure her boyfriend knowsexactlywho he belongs to.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 29
Kudos: 223





	Under Property of Ladybug

**Author's Note:**

> :shrug:
> 
> Quick one-shot written due to shenanigans amongst friends.  
> If you are a minor, probably Not Safe For You.

The realisation hit him when he was taking his clothes out of the mansion and packing them into boxes and suitcases.

All of Adrien’s clothes had his father’s name written on them.

Sometimes it was stamped as a single, strong G on the tag. Sometimes it was embroidered on the edge of a sleeve. Sometimes it was just the brand’s logo on the breast pocket.

It wasn’t that bad, Adrien figured, swallowing thickly as he packed his clothes away. They were still his clothes; what did it matter if a terrorist’s name was marked all over them?

This wasn’t something Adrien could worry about right now. He had to have everything packed and moved by the day after tomorrow; whatever he left behind, would be repossessed by the government, sold off and repurposed. Half of the Agreste family’s wealth would also be seized.

Yet the full weight of the issue slammed into his chest like a wrecking ball when Adrien pulled open his underwear drawer.

Every pair of boxers, every set of briefs, had his father’s full name, in full capital letters, marked on the band. Each one he picked up, the word ‘GABRIEL’ screamed back at him, taunting him,  _ mocking him… _

Adrien swallowed thickly, trying not to think about the current pair of boxers he was wearing with his father’s name stamped right above his crotch, and quickly packed away the rest of his clothes.

What was he going to tell his girlfriend?

* * *

“I feel like he’s just, following me  _ everywhere,” _ was what Adrien ended up telling her. They were hauling boxes from the van to the apartment, and she was listening to him vent as they both panted in the summer heat. Adrien rubbed sweat off his forehead as they placed their next load down. “I see his name on the newspapers, obviously, but then I go home, and it’s like he’s on the stairs, and then when I’m in my room, his name is on my  _ clothes!” _

Marinette’s eyes, big and blue and beautiful, blinked at him as she sat next to her box. “We can get you new clothes,” she offered, “and you never have to go back to that house again. Alya, Nino, Luka and I can go grab the next bit and--”

But Adrien was already shaking his head. “No, I… I want to do it. But some help would be nice.”

Marinette’s worried expression faded into a kind smile. “If you’re sure,” she whispered, standing back up. Adrien tried to offer her a hand, but she waved him away. “If you’re sure you can handle it, I’ll trust you.”

Adrien’s heart swelled. He loved her for her generosity, her kindness, and her strength. Ever since he had found out--since  _ Paris _ had found out--his father was Papillon, the magical terrorist that had turned emotional citizens into monstrous Akumas, Marinette had been his rock. She had supported him through thick and thin and thick again, ever since they had started dating in lycée, and she had never questioned his absences when he had to spend time as Chat Noir.

Now, they were moving in together. The unit wasn’t perfect, as it was still several blocks from the university and it had no air conditioning and the stairs were terrible, but it had a cute little balcony and the kitchen was big enough for both of them. It was pricy, but so was everything in Paris.

“Thank you,” Adrien whispered, and he kissed her cheek. “I really appreciate that.”

“Are there any of the clothes you want replaced the most?” Marinette asked, heading to the front door. “I can break out the fabrics and my machine later.”

Adrien knew immediately the correct answer to this question, but his face suddenly felt hot. Hotter than the summer sun had ever made it.

Marinette turned to look at him when he failed to answer, and she raised an eyebrow. “Adrien?” she asked, amused and curious.

“The underwear,” he said in a small voice, standing beside her with his shoulders hunched. He refused to meet her gaze, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s…. It’s all men’s stuff, with his name on it. It’s like he… like he still  _ owns _ me.”

“Ooh, Adrien…” Marinette reached up and cupped his cheek, guiding his gaze to meet hers. Adrien lost himself in her eyes, as deep and perfect as a clear sky. He felt vulnerable here, but comfortably so, as if Marinette was willing to listen to him and help him through his insecurity. Through his pain. Just as he was willing to help her through her anxieties, her stress, her burdens.

Here, he felt home.

And this would be their home. Together.

Slowly, he blinked. She smiled back at him. 

“I’ll see what I can do, okay?” she tried to console him.

Adrien felt his face pull up into a grin so wide, his cheeks hurt.

“Thank you, Marinette.”

* * *

After the first day of moving, Marinette was too tired to try her hand at fixing her boyfriend’s underwear problem. She passed out in their makeshift bed in the bedroom, surrounded by boxes and pillows and their big, fluffy comforter and giant, stuffed kitty. She woke up alone, stiff but rested, and she grumbled at the lack of the usual warm body she cuddled up against.

It took the protesting of her bladder to finally leave the blanket nest, and once she had used the bathroom, Marinette stumbled towards the kitchen and the smell of coffee. Her gorgeous, handsome, model boyfriend was moving around the kitchen, trying to juggle brewing, cooking, and a bowl of whisked eggs. She had been teaching him these things for a while now; but watching her  _ Chaton _ function like a normal adult, all on his own, was rewarding. 

She leaned against the counter, smiling softly. He was still in his pyjama pants, slung low across his hips, and he had yet to put on a shirt. And, peeking over the edge of his pants…

Marinette stood up straight, furrowing her brow.

When Adrien had said, “all men’s stuff,” about his underwear, she had assumed nothing. Of course Adrien wore boxers, she had  _ seen _ his boxers, she had taken them  _ off _ of him, but what was poking out was  _ not _ boxers.

These were pink. And white. And shiny.

And frilly.

“Adrien,” she said softly, her voice a low purr. He stiffened. She knew that he recognised her tone: he was in trouble.

Kind of.

“Yes, my love?” he answered, but Marinette could detect his unease.

“What are you wearing?”

She heard him swallow. He stirred whatever was in the pan.

“Uhh… W-Well, I…” he gave an awkward laugh. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t find my stuff and…”

“Mmhmm…” Marinette hummed, smirking at his back. “Are those mine?”

Adrien gave a high pitched giggle.

Curiosity prodded at her. Pushing off of the counter, she stalked toward him, hips swaying, and she pressed her chest against his back. Slowly, Marinette wrapped her arms around her boyfriend, and she ran her hands over his chest, down his stomach, and brushed the top of his pants with her fingers.

Adrien froze. His breathing was tight. She hooked her thumbs inside, feeling the chill of the silk and the sharp points of his hip bones.

“Are they?” Marinette asked again, purring into his ear. Adrien shuddered as he exhaled.

“Y-Yeah,” he admitted.

“Do you like them?” 

Adrien inhaled sharply, exhaled again, and Marinette chuckled. He was trying to focus, either on breakfast or her voice, and she was proud of the effect she had over him. Her! Normal, boring, petite her!

“I… They’re comfortable, yeah,” Adrien confessed. “And they don’t have his name on them.” Marinette frowned before she nuzzled into his shoulder, kissed it, and then pulled entirely away.

“I’ll try to remember that.” She walked around him and towards the coffee pot. “What do we have planned for today?”

As they worked together to finish breakfast, they discussed their plans for the day. She would stay here, unpacking boxes and arranging furniture with Alya and Kagami, and Adrien was going back to the mansion with Luka and Nino to scour the place again for anything of sentimental value. They would meet up again that evening for dinner, and they would talk about tomorrow then.

Tomorrow was the big day, after all. Marinette would have to go with Adrien to the courthouse and sign all the papers, giving over the Agreste property to the government. 

She really wanted to do something for him.

Something to show her love.

Something  _ nice. _

* * *

“Hey, Marinette! I found your sewing machine!”

Alya was pulling the white and pink appliance out of the box it was hiding in. It was well after lunch, and the girls were most of the way through the boxes. The boys had dropped off a haul a few hours ago, but they had yet to return. Marinette hoped they had eaten.

“Awesome!” She stood up from the box of books she was unpacking. “Let’s set it up in the second bedroom; we want to use it as a study.”

Together, they set up the machine on her newly assembled desk. Over the course of the afternoon, Marinette located all of her sewing supplies, her fabrics, and even her collection of bobbins and spare needles. She pulled out some patterns, flipped through them, and chose a few that she thought Adrien would like.

She wondered if she’d have to modify them a little.

Probably.

Marinette also made sure Alya didn’t catch a glimpse of the patterns; the last thing she needed was Alya pestering for a pair of her own.

And after dinner…

“I’m going to sew for a while,” she told Adrien as they cleared the table. “I need to unwind.”

He blinked at her, surprised, but Adrien shrugged it off. “Okay. I can do the dishes if you want. I don’t mind.” 

“You’re so sweet,” Marinette cooed as she stood up onto her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’d really appreciate that.”

Adrien smiled, put down the plate he was holding, and then pulled her into a deeper kiss, capturing her lips and lingering. She hummed into the kiss until she giggled.

“Go sew,” he said, “I got this.”

“Thanks,” she pulled back. “Don’t wait up for me!”

And he didn’t. Marinette threw herself into patterns, cutting fabric, sewing on lace and dealing with silk. She did flowers on some, spots on others, and a couple of plain ones. On all of them, she embroidered her name.

On most of them, she embroidered  _ Marinette  _ in her usual, loopy cursive signature.

On a singular pair, she stitched a different name. Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was the stress of the week. Maybe it was the fact that they had found Papillon, repossessed the butterfly jewel, and everything was settled now.

Maybe it was just  _ time. _

At nearly three in the morning, Marinette carried her freshly finished projects into the bedroom. They had assembled the bed frame, so her boyfriend was asleep in the bed, snoring softly. He was still wearing  _ her _ underwear, and Marinette licked her lips.

She could  _ definitely _ get used to seeing him in those. Or these.

She couldn’t wait for a chance to peel them off of him.

Maybe tomorrow.

Yet when she pulled open his drawer, all of his old underwear was still there. They were lined up neatly, folded perfectly, and all of them,  _ all of them, _ had his father’s horrid name on them.

In the morning, she would blame the late hour.

In the morning, she would blame her tired brain and her stress and her jealousy.

In the morning, she wouldn’t know what to really say.

In one quick motion, Marinette replaced all of Adrien’s old boxers and briefs with the newly sewn ones. In another motion, she carried all of his old underwear to the balcony. Furiously, she opened the door, pulled over an empty plant pot, and threw them in.

At this point, Marinette hesitated. She needed a… But did she have one?

After digging through the kitchen junk box, Marinette located a long, safety click lighter. She grabbed some packing paper from the recycling bin, a couple of broken-down boxes, and went back outside.

She started a bonfire, right then and there, on her new apartment balcony. In an old clay planter, out of paper and cloth, out of boxes and underwear. A fire so bright, she couldn’t see the stars and her neighbours must’ve thought the new tenants were crazy.

It was glorious.

* * *

Adrien knew Marinette didn’t come to bed until late in the morning, but he had no idea what time exactly. He had woken up around one a.m. to use the bathroom, but she had been furiously sewing still. Yet when Adrien’s alarm went off at six, she was curled into his side, her hair splayed across her pillow, circles under her eyes.

Chuckling, Adrien leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead. Slowly and carefully, he disentangled himself from her embrace.

“Sorry, my love,” he muttered as she whined. “Get some more sleep.”

Marinette grumbled as she wrapped herself around another pillow, and Adrien smiled fondly as he moved away. He started gathering clothes for his shower, but when he pulled open his new underwear and socks drawer…

He blinked.

Instead of the bland boxers and briefs from his father’s dead fashion brand, an assortment of pinks, whites, and pastel greens and blues stared back at him. Lacy and frilly panties, in mostly hipster, cheeky, and bikini cuts, were the most popular in the pile, but Adrien felt his face turn deep red at one that looked more like a thong. He picked up a cute, almost see-through pair; it was soft, despite the lace, and a lovely pink. Small flowers dotted the fabric, tiny and cute, and Adrien knew he was red to his ears. 

Because across the band was a different name.

He ran his thumb over the beautiful embroidery, his face settling into something shy and happy and excited all at once.

Out of curiosity, Adrien dug through the rest. She had made at least ten or twelve sets, they all seemed to fit, and she had even given them extra room in the front.

Mixed feelings were bubbling in his chest. On one hand, he was excited; these were a gift from his girlfriend, the woman he was pretty sure he would be spending the rest of his life with. He was also free from his father’s ownership! While Adrien didn’t mind that the rest of his clothes still had the  _ Gabriel _ brand, there had been something deeply unsettling about his father’s name right above his crotch. 

On the other hand, this was definitely something his father would’ve disapproved of.

Adrien decided he didn’t care.

He almost missed the last pair of panties at the bottom of the drawer.

They were a brilliant red, with small black spots. He picked them up, furrowing his brow, but once his brain made the connection, Adrien’s eyes bugged out.

His brain stopped.

His whole body froze.

It took way too long to get his cognitive functions back online.

“Milady?!” he squeaked, turning around to stare at Marinette still sleeping in the bed. She groaned, but she waved at him anyway.

“Just let me sleep,  _ Chaton. _ We can talk later. Promises.”

Adrien felt a high pitch whine build up in his throat. Later? How  _ much _ later?!

“Am I…wearing these?!” Adrien held up the Ladybug panties he was holding. She moaned, rolled over, and stared at him.

Marinette rubbed at her eyes and squinted. She shrugged.

“If you want to,” she mumbled. “You don’t gotta.”

“If I want to?” he whimpered. He knew the answer to that question; he definitely wanted to. Adrien didn’t care if anyone else saw him in these; even if it was embarrassing, it filled him with an odd sense of pride. “I… Yeah, I’ll wear them, Milady, but…”

She tilted her head, and Adrien turned the panties over in his hands to stare at them some more.

Across the front of the panties, in the same, loopy cursive as her civilian name, were the words:  _ Property of Ladybug. _

“Really?” he asked, quietly. Marinette rolled her eyes and rolled over.

“Yes,” she grumbled into her pillow. “You’re mine. You  _ belong _ to me. Consider this a replacement for all your old stuff.”

“And,” Adrien swallowed, stepping towards the bed. “What’d you do with the old stuff?”

Marinette suddenly started to giggle. Adrien waited patiently for an answer, but he still wasn’t quite prepared for her response.

“I burned them.”

_ “What?!” _

Well, at least he could now feel like he belonged to Marinette, his Lady, in heart, mind, body...and dick.


End file.
